The Way You Lie
by coffeebuddha
Summary: Spencer's angry, Ethan's in town, Derek's jealous, and nobody's telling the complete truth about anything. Features Ethan from 2x18, Jones. Sequel to Hot Like Mexico.
1. Chapter 1

The thing about one night stands, Derek muses as he goes over a file with Prentiss and covertly watches Spencer out of the corner of his eye, is that they really only work with strangers. Anything else and you go from fucking to fucking everything up. It's been nearly two weeks since that night and nothing's the same any more. Spencer's distant and he hasn't smiled at Derek once since he showed up at work with a stony expression he must have borrowed from Hotch and a hickey just barely peeking out from under the high collar of his shirt. Which, you know, Derek understands. He shouldn't have just left.

It was a shitty, stupid thing to do. Even with the strangest of strangers he would have written a note. Sneaking out in the middle of the night isn't like him, but he's been been doing a lot of things lately that aren't like him. Especially where it concerns Spencer. He can't even apologize for it because every time there's the slightest chance of their being alone together, Spencer comes up with some excuse to run away. His mother would probably call it karma or maybe say something cliche about turnabout being fair play. She'd be right to.

* * *

The most infuriating part, Spencer decides as he watches Derek talking to Prentiss across the bullpen, is that he wasn't lying when he said things wouldn't change. As far as he can tell, Derek isn't at all affected by the night they spent together. He hadn't expected to wake up and find Derek still in bed with him. That traitorous, squishy spot in his chest might have wanted it, even yearned for it a little, but it hadn't been a surprise to roll over and have his outstretched arm hit nothing but long cooled sheets. Spencer purses his lips together and spins his chair around so that his back is to Derek. There's no use dwelling on what's already happened.

They're adults. They work together. Things are tense, but it's his own fault. He should never have let things progress as far as they did, and he certainly shouldn't have come out of it all expecting for Derek to feel anything about it. It's just fucking. Even Spencer's capable of just fucking.

Spencer sighs and slumps back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. Anyone looking at him would think he's lost in some important thought, but it's actually the exact opposite. The bustle and chaos of the bullpen roars on, but Spencer takes one deep breath after another and pushes everything out of his head. Maybe some day he'll lose control, but for now he still has this. He's his own desert island, isolated and unreachable, voluntarily locked in the one quiet corner of his mind. It's therapeutic and comforting and temporary. Time ticks steadily around him, but he doesn't track it, instead letting himself drift in its ebb. It isn't until a hand lands on his shoulder-firm and confident, but too small to be male-that he jerks back to himself. JJ smiles down at him, a faint line of concern between her eyebrows.

"It's quitting time, Spence. We're all going out to the bar. Want to come?" Spencer just barely manages to stop himself from glancing over at Derek, but something must flicker across his face because JJ squeezes his shoulder and perches on the edge of his desk. "It's been months since all of us have gone out together. Even geniuses need to get out and have some fun every once in a while. What do you say?"

"I would, really," Spencer says, and this time he can't quite stop his eyes from darting toward Derek. Warmth rushes to his cheeks when he sees that Derek's staring straight at him, his eyes dark and intense. For a moment he flashes back to the night at the club with Derek moving strong and hard and impassioned against him, his eyes just like that. Then he shakes himself and looks back at JJ, whose concern is even more noticeable. He clears his throat and shakes his head. "I would, but I already have plans with someone tonight."

JJ blinks, then a wide grin spreads across her face. "Oh _really__._ Like a date? Is it anyone I know? Should we start rehearsing speeches about how she needs to treat our Spencer right?"

"You've been spending too much time with Garcia," Spencer says. There's a footstep behind him and Spencer can feel hot eyes boring into him. He bows his head and rubs at the back of his neck, but he can still feel the burn. "It's nothing like that. An old friend is coming into town and we made plans."

JJ opens her mouth to say something, but before she can Derek moves into Spencer's line of sight and cuts her off. "You could always bring your 'friend' along. I'm sure we'd all play nice."

There's something disbelieving in the line of Derek's mouth and the gleam of his eye that makes Spencer flush with annoyance, and his frown and voice are sharper than they'd normally be when he says, "Thank you, but no. We'll probably spend most of the night...catching up." JJ looks confused, but the way Derek's eyes widen momentarily is briefly gratifying before they narrow again and he smirks. Spencer purses his lips together and gathers his things with jerky, abbreviated movements, eager to be anywhere that isn't here. "I'll see you tomorrow."

His fingers curl into fists when Derek's teasing, almost sarcastic voice rings out behind him. "Don't have so much fun that you forget to sleep, pretty boy."

* * *

The crowd at The Auld Dubliner is modest at best, but it doesn't take too long before a pretty young thing takes Derek by the hand and leads him out onto the small dance floor. Derek goes gladly, more than eager for the distraction that her flirty smile promises. He needs something, anything to clear his mind, which is so full of intelligent eyes and narrow hips and elegant hands that it's practically spinning. He can't concentrate, can barely sleep, and if things don't change soon he doesn't know what he'll do. Right now the young woman swaying against his body seems like a good enough option.

Except when he looks into her wide, brown eyes, they're shallow, not at all the kind of eyes he could fall in to and drown in. When he grips her full, round hips, his fingers flex awkwardly as if they want to curl tighter than her curves will allow. And when her hand presses against his chest, it's warm, but it's small and dainty and doesn't _burn_ the way that he craves.

A tiny part of his brain whispers that he should have worked to convince Spencer to come out tonight. If he's avoiding Derek to the point where he's willing to lie about having a friend come to visit, then it's only right that Derek tries to make more of an effort to put things right. He hates what they've turned into, but he doesn't know how to fix it. If he could just get Spencer to talk to him...

The woman rises up on her toes, her body sliding against his, and whispers in his ear about going someplace to 'talk'. Derek smiles automatically, but there's no tingle where she touches him, no thrill at the thought of laying her down on his bed and slowly unwrapping her lush body like an early Christmas present, no twinge of arousal at the thought of sinking into all that hot softness. He buys her a drink, even kisses her once to make certain, but there's just _nothing__. _ Well, that's not entirely true. When he kisses her, her lips tremble the slightest bit against his so much like the way Spencer's did that for that split second he's hard pressed to keep from bending her back over the bar and ravishing her mouth. But she doesn't taste right and, except for that tremble, she doesn't feel right. It's empty and meaningless and suddenly all Derek wants is to be near Spencer.

It's not even about the sex. Not completely at least. He just wants to be _near_ him, able to reach out and touch him if the mood take him. He wants to hear the enthusiastic rise and fall of his voice as he rambles on about some topic Derek will never understand. He wants to watch his hands arch through the air when he expounds on a particularly exciting point. He wants to run his fingers through the short remains of his gorgeous hair and smell his unique scent that always makes Derek think of crisp fall nights and old library books. He misses Spencer more than it should be possible to miss someone he still sees almost every day.

Derek doesn't bother finishing his drink. He tosses down enough bills to cover his tab, waves a goodbye to the rest of the team, and hurries out to the parking lot. The ride to Spencer's apartment building is long enough that Derek manages to talk himself into and out of actually going to his door and knocking about a half a dozen times, but when he finally parks his bike across from the building it only takes him a moment to steel his nerves enough to swing off of his bike. The buzzers are broken, but that's fine because so is the lock on the outer door. Derek lets himself in, making a mental note to have a serious talk with Spencer about finding a safer place to live, and jogs up the stairs, taking two at a time in his haste. He might not have Spencer's memory, but he finds his door easily enough and, after pausing for moment to wipe his damp palms against his jeans, knocks. It's a good, solid knock and it only takes a few seconds before he hears fumbling from inside the apartment.

When the doorknob starts to turn, Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to brace himself. Adrenaline races through his body and he suddenly feels a little sick. What if this wasn't a good idea? If it wasn't, it's too late now, he reminds himself as the door opens and words start to tumble out of his mouth. "Spencer, I think we need to-Who the hell are you?"

The man at the door is tall, about the same height as Spencer although a little broader and heftier, and pale with a friendly, scruffy face. His dark, longish hair is soaking wet, although that doesn't stop bits of it from curling damply, and several rivulets of water slide down his bare, toned chest to the towel that's loosely wrapped around his waist. If he's offended by what Derek said, it doesn't show. Instead, he leans against the door frame and gives Derek a blatant once over, his lips quirking in a small, amused smile at Derek's obvious discomfort.

"I'm Ethan." His smile is annoying, Derek decides. He tries to place the name, finally remembers Spencer mentioning him once years ago. Somehow when Spencer had talked about the kid he used to compete against in spelling bees and science fairs, this isn't what Derek pictured. Ethan's still watching him, his smile growing into a full blown grin. "And if pressed, I would guess that you're the infamous Derek Morgan. Spencer's told me so much about you that I feel like I already know you."

"What?" It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep from growling in Ethan's face, but Derek tries to bite back his frustration and confusion. "I am, but what are you-"

"You're kind of a dumb ass, you know that?" Ethan cuts him off, his words hard but his smile wide. He leans close enough that Derek can smell Spencer's shampoo and soap on him. The bastard looks like he's about to burst out in laughter and suddenly Derek wants to do more than just growl at him. "What on earth could possibly have possessed you to walk away from someone like him? Stupid, stupid mistake. Still, you're here now. Did you come to join in? Because I'd be okay with that. You're not exactly unattractive and it can be fun to mix things up a little sometimes. The more the merrier and all."

The cocky bastard winks, actually _winks_ at him , and Derek digs his fingers into his thighs to keep from punching him square in the jaw for what he's implying. Derek starts to open his mouth, but Ethan's still talking, his dark eyes bright with a strange, amused gleam. "Of course, it's cool if you just wanted to tag in. I owe it to you for keeping my boy company when I wasn't around to."

Derek chokes on nothing and gawks at Ethan, who smiles blithely back at him. "Your boy?" Derek manages to spit out, the words heavy on his tongue. "What do you mean, 'your boy'?"

Ethan flashes a shit eating grin and chuckles. "I know Spencer doesn't talk about me often, but I'm sure he's mentioned that we go way back. We have _history__._ We understand each other. Things went sour after I left the academy, but now that I'm moving here...Well, you know him. Can you blame me for still wanting him?"

Derek can't breathe. Ethan's smiling at him like they're fucking friends and talking so casually about wanting _his_ Spencer-not that Spencer's his, but he's certainly more Derek's than this bastard's-that his stomach churns and he thinks he might be sick. He moves forward, wanting to push his way into the apartment, but Ethan doesn't move and Derek can't bring himself to touch him without hurting him, so they end up closer than Derek's strictly comfortable with. Ethan doesn't seem bothered. Derek gets the feeling that not much bothers him. He swallows, trying to force down the lump in his throat, and he's not entirely certain what he would have done if Spencer hadn't chosen that moment to wander up behind Ethan. His eyes are wide and his pretty, swollen lips are parted with surprise, but that isn't what Derek notices first. No, he doesn't even notice that Spencer's hair is also dripping wet and that a matching towel is slung low around his hips.

"Derek? What are you doing here," Spencer asks, but Derek barely hears him. All he can focus on is the scattering of purpling marks that mar his pale skin, especially one taunting one on his hip that peeks out at Derek from under the edge of the towel, the familiar satisfied gleam in his eyes, and the tell tale flush high on his cheeks.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but they're both just looking at him like he's the intruder here and he realizes that he can't think of a single thing to say that will get him what he wants right now. Somehow, he just doesn't think 'I finally figured out that, while the sex was great, I'd kind of like to hold your hand and stare dreamily into your eyes and talk about stupid couple stuff with you forever' is going to cut it.

"Nothing." He finally says, his voice thick and uncomfortable in his own ears. "It's nothing that can't wait."

Spencer moves like he wants to come over to him, but Ethan's still there between them with that damn smug smile in place, and Derek forces himself to start walking before either of them can say anything else.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**

**ETA: Please don't bash Ethan just because you want Spencer to be with Derek. He's important to the plot and isn't going anywhere anytime soon, so if you have that big of a problem with him then you might want to sit this one out. I'm not asking you to love him, but please don't fill my inbox with comments about how horrible he is, because I don't see that he's done anything wrong other than cock blocking Derek, who had it coming considering the stunt he pulled.**

Nothing belongs to me.


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Spencer says as he gives Ethan a speculative once over. "Exactly how long have I been yours, and when were you planning on filling me in on that fact?"

Ethan laughs and whips his towel off to briskly rub at his dripping hair. "Didn't you ever learn that it's rude to listen at doors?"

"Ethan," Spencer says, the hint of warning in his tone wavering just a bit at the sight of Ethan's long, wiry muscles shifting under his bare skin as he briskly towels at his hair. Ethan smirks when he sees Spencer watching him and drops his arms, his hair sticking out wildly from his rough treatment. He moves closer and bows his head to lap at a bead of water on Spencer's jaw, and Spencer shivers at the combination of his hot, wet tongue and the brush of his cool, damp curls. Ethan drapes his towel around Spencer's neck and uses the ends to carefully pat at the drops of water still clinging to his face and shoulders.

"What did I do?"

Spencer frowns, but doesn't pull away when Ethan slides an arm around his waist and leans against him. When Spencer relaxes into his embrace a fraction, Ethan smiles wider and kisses him, his fingers teasingly dancing up and down Spencer's bare sides until he's squirming and half laughing against his mouth. Ethan finally relents when Spencer starts to try and twist away, which sends the both of them tumbling down onto the couch with Spencer sprawled across him. Spencer tries to move to sit next to Ethan, but Ethan holds him tighter and grumbles against his neck, so instead he shifts enough to get comfortable on his lap. Spencer rolls his eyes as he tries to tame Ethan's flyaway hair with his fingers. "You're out of control," he says, although he sounds more amused than anything now.

Ethan leans into his touch, turning his head to kiss the inside of Spencer's wrist when it's close enough, and grins cheekily. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"Asking him if he wanted to join in on a threesome might have been a bit much." This is nice, Spencer decides as he looks down at Ethan's completely unrepentant face. He doesn't get this-this deep, easy companionship-very often, and it's been far too long since he's been able to just relax and be with anyone this effortlessly. When Ethan touches him, there's a definite sizzle. It might not have the heat or intensity of the electrifying zing that Derek sends speeding through his veins, but it's familiar and comfortable, and there's nothing wrong with that.

"But he's so _dreamy_," Ethan exclaims with an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes. Spencer purses his lips together and Ethan laughs and shrugs. "I was just ruffling your jock's feathers a little bit. It's nothing he won't get over." Ethan's fingers knead Spencer's neck, working loose the tension there, and Spencer slumps against him a little more.

"He isn't my jock. Right now he isn't even my friend," Spencer mutters, but there's more hurt than heat in his voice. Ethan glances between him and the door, and his eyebrows quirk up.

"Yeah, I can see that." He nips at Spencer's jaw, humming with pleasure at Spencer's sharp, short intake of breath. "He's clearly just all sorts of over you. Just like you clearly have absolutely no feelings for him." Spencer tenses and Ethan nuzzles at the crook of his neck, his hand stroking down the curve of Spencer's spine to finger the edge of his towel.

"No trying to pretend with me, genius. We both know that I know you too well for that." Ethan's scruff scrapes against Spencer's hypersensitive skin and something tightens low in his belly. He lifts himself up, pivots so that he's straddling Ethan, and kisses him. It's a good kiss-familiar and easy and satisfying, like coming home after being away for too long. Every flick and stoke is as perfect as if they've rehearsed this, which in a way they have. There's no fumbling, no thrill, but it fills Spencer with warmth and it's so, so good that he presses closer for more. Ethan's hands slide further down and he cups Spencer's ass, dislodging his towel, and pulls him in even tighter so they're hip to hip, skin to skin. Spencer groans against his mouth and tangles his fingers in his hair, and it's like they're fifteen and figuring out what their bodies are for all over again.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," Ethan pants as Spencer licks a line up his neck and bites his earlobe. "That asshole hurt you. I really think we should talk about that."

"Later."

"Later?" Ethan's head falls back against the back of the couch as Spencer's sinfully hot mouth sucks hard on his neck. "Okay, later could work for me," he mumbles and flips them so that Spencer's on his back underneath him. Ethan moans when Spencer hooks a leg around his waist and arches up against him. "I am so incredibly good with later."

* * *

After leaving Spencer's apartment, Derek had driven to one of his flip properties and ripped out rotting hardwood floors until the dust made his eyes stream and he shook deep in his bones with exhaustion. He wakes up half curled up on a couch that the previous owners had left behind, the early morning light pouring in through a cracked bay window almost blinding him. He's completely covered in grime, so filthy that he grimaces when he touches his own skin and feels the layer of dirt and dried sweat under his fingertips. None of the bathrooms are in working order, but he briefly considers hosing off in the backyard before realizing that he'd have to crawl back into the same disgusting clothes he's wearing now.

During the ride back to his house, he tries to focus on traffic and the feel of his bike humming between his legs, and, when that doesn't do enough to distract him, he makes a mental list of things he needs to do. It almost works, but he gives up after the third time 'kill Ethan' pops up on the list. It isn't until he's in his shower with his forehead resting against the slick ceramic tiles and the hot water pounding down on him, scalding and soothing at the same time, that he finally admits to himself what he's been trying to ignore.

He's completely and totally fucked.

If his life was a romantic comedy, he'd be the bumbling, masculine hero who realizes during the final ten minutes that his life is so much better with the intelligent, witty heroine. He'd have raced over to Spencer's apartment and said all the right things and they would have fallen into each other's arms and lived happily ever after. But this isn't a movie, it's real life, and while he might have realized that Spencer's the one he wants to be with-not just for a night, but for forever-there's nothing he can do that will change the fact that Ethan's Duckie has just beaten his Blane. Ethan's the one who's earned the right to lounge in Spencer's apartment and his life, watch him sleep, caress his body, taste his lips. Derek had his chance and he blew it.

The shower helps to ease some of the soreness in his muscles, but he's still almost too tired to be functional when he gets to work. He spends most of the day holed up in his office doing paperwork and avoiding Spencer, but his luck runs out when he's dragging himself out of the building, every inch of his body crying with relief at just the thought of collapsing into bed. He's on the elevator, leaning heavily against the wall with his eyes half shut, when someone calls out for him to hold the doors. His finger automatically presses the button before he brain can register who the voice belongs to, but by then it's too late, because Spencer's standing frozen at the entrance, half in and half out. He shifts as if he wants to turn and leave, but then shakes himself and steps in. He stands with his back ramrod straight and his mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. Derek watches him, noting how his slender frame is almost vibrating from how rigidly he's holding himself, and searches for something, anything, to say.

"Ethan seems like...," Derek trails off, wondering if this is a good idea, and darts a glance at Spencer. The other man's steadfastly staring at the elevator numbers ticking downward and gives no indication that he heard him, but Derek keeps talking anyway. "I'm not going to lie to you. He seems like an ass."

Spencer snorts, but the curl of his lips is more scornful than amused. "He is, but he's an ass who was there when I woke up this morning. That counts for a lot."

Derek winces and reminds himself that he deserved that. Still, they're alone for the first time in weeks. If he can't have Spencer, maybe it's not too late to win back his friendship. He has to at least try. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I shouldn't have waited so long to say it, but I am. I should never have slept with you that night. If I'd known things were going to turn out like this..."

"That doesn't matter," Spencer says flatly. Tension rolls off of him in waves, polluting the entire elevator and making Derek damp with sweat around his collar. He runs a finger under the edge of it and tries again, his voice firmer this time.

"It does-"

"_No_, it really doesn't." Spencer cuts in, finally looking away from the elevator numbers and at Derek. The hard, unwavering glint in his eye makes Derek suddenly wish he could go back to Spencer ignoring him. "I know you, Morgan. I know what you're like and I knew what I was getting into. You don't do relationships and there's absolutely no reason why I should have thought that things would be different because it was me instead of some stranger. When it comes to romance, you're a statistical nightmare. I don't even want to try to figure out what kind of odds I had."

"I thought you said it doesn't matter," Derek manages to say faintly.

"The sex doesn't matter," Spencer says, his disgust and frustration almost palpable. "I'm not upset because we had sex and you want to treat it like a one time thing. I expected that. I'm _upset _because I thought we were friends and the way you acted afterward isn't how you act toward a friend."

Spencer looks as if he wants to say more, but just then the elevator dings and the doors part. Spencer gives Derek one last scathing look and stalks away. Derek stands there for a moment too stunned to move. It takes the doors starting to slide close to snap him out of it, and he shoves his way through them at the last second, hurrying after Spencer.

* * *

The worst part is that if the stunned, confused expression on Derek's face was anything to go by, he still doesn't get it. Spencer can hear Derek's footsteps-too fast for him to be doing anything but trying to catch up-but he doesn't slow at all until he catches sight of his car and Ethan leaning against its hood. Ethan perks up when he sees Spencer, pushing away from the car. His fingers twitch and he starts to lift his arms before catching himself and shoving his hands in his pockets. Spencer exhales slowly and closes the distance between them until he can feel the comforting heat of Ethan's body without actually touching him. Derek's footsteps falter and go silent, and Ethan glances over Spencer's shoulder and nods once, then winks. Spencer rolls his eyes, but smiles when Ethan arches an eyebrow and asks, "What?"

"You enjoy provoking people too much."

Ethan looks thoughtful, then shrugs. "Probably. It's part of my charming nature."

Spencer shakes his head and manages a small laugh at that. "That's debatable. Did you have any trouble getting where you needed to go?"

"Hmm?" Ethan frowns speculatively at Spencer, then blinks and hands over the car keys. "No, no problems at all. You look like hell. Rough day at the office, dear?"

Ethan's words are light, almost offhanded, but the glare he shoots over Spencer's shoulder is anything but. Spencer takes his arm when he bounces up on the balls of his feet like he wants to move, and he looks back at Spencer, startled.

"Don't start anything," Spencer warns quietly.

"Me? Start something?" Ethan visibly scoffs at the idea and pats Spencer's hand reassuringly, although his expression darkens again when he looks back in Derek's direction. "So, what did the boy wonder do now?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. As much as I appreciate your concern, I can take care of myself. I'm perfectly capable of handling Morgan without your help."

Ethan's eyes snap back to Spencer. "Oh, you must be pissed if he's Morgan again. What did he do?"

"Nothing. Can we please go now?"

Spencer must look miserable, because this time Ethan doesn't even try to stop himself from reaching for him. The kiss is chaste and tender, and Spencer melts into it even as the more rational part of his brain screams that this probably isn't the best place to be doing this. Still, he feels calmer than he has all day when Ethan breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together. Spencer closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy just being held, but immediately tenses when someone taps on his shoulder. He braces himself, fully expecting it to be Derek, but when he turns the other man is still halfway across the lot, looking like someone just killed his dog. Instead, Garcia's there at his elbow smiling cheekily up at him.

"So, this must be the 'friend' you blew us off for last night. Can't say that I blame you," she says, not even trying to hide her blatant appraisal of Ethan. "_You_ are adorable. How about buying me a drink while you tell me all about how you two starry-eyed lovebirds met?"

Spencer can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and his mouth flaps open and closed without any words coming out. Ethan looks at him for a second, his eyebrows drawn together with concern, then smiles graciously at Garcia and takes her hand. When he kisses the back instead of shaking it, she fans herself and feigns a small swoon.

"You must be Garcia. Spencer's told me about you," Ethan says. Spencer's still trying to remember how to form words, but Garcia bats her eyelashes coyly and makes no move to take her hand back.

"And all of it's true, baby."

"I like this one, Spencer," Ethan says with a laugh. He arches an eyebrow at Spencer, who sighs, then smiles ruefully and nods. Ethan tucks Garcia's hand into the crook of his arm and flashes his most charming grin. "You said you wanted a drink?"

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**

Nothing belongs to me.


	3. Chapter 3

"In the end, it turned out that the leather daddy was a physics professor at a local university! He and Spencer spent the rest of the night at the bar arguing over string theory while a self proclaimed dungeon master tried to convince me that I secretly wanted to be dominated."

Derek slumps a little more in his seat and tries not to look as sulky as he feels when Spencer laughs against a grinning Ethan's neck and Garcia snorts into her glass. When Garcia had cornered him in the parking lot, he'd been frozen, too stunned by the actual evidence of Spencer and Ethan's relationship to react. Not that he hadn't known, of course. There'd been no doubt from the moment he'd seen Spencer the night before that the two were involved, that it wasn't just a ruse on Ethan's side to taunt him. But knowing and seeing are such completely different things, and he hadn't been prepared for the blow of actually seeing Spencer step into someone else's arms. It's somehow worse that the exchange had been so clearly about comfort and not just sex. Lust he would have been able to deal with, could possibly have overcome, but he's at a loss as to how to compete with Ethan when there's an obvious emotional attachment between the two of them.

It was stupid, masochistic to stick around, but he hadn't been able to make his legs move. They'd felt weighted down, heavy as lead, and try as he might to leave, his surprise had left him rooted to the ground as surely as if he'd been planted there. So, when Garcia had looked away from Ethan and caught sight of him, he'd been too concerned with his sudden paralyzation to think up a single excuse to get out of joining them and getting 'to know Reid's delish friend'. Of course, now that he's trapped in the booth from hell with Garcia laughing at his side and Spencer and Ethan practically cuddling across from him, he can think of a million excuses he could have used to get away, all of which would probably have made Ethan flash that damn, patronizing smirk at him. Still, he thinks as he drains his second drink and motions for the server to bring him another, as annoying as that would be, it probably wouldn't be half as painful as sitting across from Spencer and Ethan while they play the part of the happy couple. He toys with his phone and wonders at the odds of getting a call from JJ about a case. Her calls aren't the sort of thing he normally looks forward to, but even a briefing would be better than this.

Derek frowns at that and silently rebukes himself. He shouldn't be wishing for something terrible to happen to someone else just to get out of here, even if the fact that Spencer seems more than a little happy to have Ethan's arm looped over his shoulders makes Derek twitch with the desire to hit something, anything. It certainly doesn't help that Spencer's cheeks look so alluringly flushed from the warmth of the room and alcohol that Derek struggles to rein in his desire to lean across the table and kiss him then and there, or that Ethan seems to be just as enchanted by it as he is if the way he keeps drawing the tips of his fingers across Spencer's cheek is anything to go by. If Spencer's at all aware of what he's doing to Derek, it doesn't show. His blush darkens every time he looks up and sees Garcia, almost like he keeps forgetting that she's there and is embarrassed all over again whenever he remembers, but he's been steadfastly refusing to look in Derek's direction at all. He can't decide if being purposely ignored is better or worse than being forgotten, but he does know that he can't stand the way Spencer sort of lights up when he looks at Ethan. It physically _hurts_ how much Derek wishes he was looking at him like that instead. His fingers tighten around his glass until his knuckles feel sore from the pressure and he mentally yells for their server to _hurry-up-move-it-get-over-here-nownow**now**_ with his refill.

It feels like he's been caught in his thoughts for ages, but when he forces himself to pay attention to the table again, Ethan's only just handing Garcia a napkin so she can mop up the alcohol she dribbled down her chin when he made her laugh. Derek settles his arm on the back of the booth, and Garcia absently pats his leg and leans against him, all friendly warmth and softness. He watches her fondly and reminds himself that there's no way she could know the hell she's forcing him to endure right now. She's still snickering and her good humor is so infectious that the corners of Derek's mouth twitch before he looks up and notices Ethan looking at him. For once the other man doesn't look smug or snide. His mobile face is smooth and his usually mocking eyes are sharp, intense. Again, Derek remembers Spencer mentioning competing against Ethan. Derek wonders exactly how smart Ethan has to be to have gone up against Spencer and stood any sort of a chance, and what he could possibly be thinking about that has him watching Derek like he's some sort of complex equation that could result in massive destruction if not handled just right.

"What I want to know is why the two of you were in a leather bar to begin with," Garcia says, and there's an intrigued glint in her eyes when she looks at Spencer. Derek looks down at her, a little startled, and tries not to get any more distracted from the conversation. When he glances at Ethan, the other man has turned his attention back toward Garcia, his charming smile firmly back in place. "Not exactly what I would have thought of as your scene, sweetness."

Derek closes his eyes for a moment and sees Spencer swaying on a crowded dance floor, his tantalizingly short skirt swishing against his slender thighs. He's suddenly parched, so dry he feels like his skin will crack, and he snags Garcia's drink and takes a swig. He halfheartedly winks at her when she makes an outraged noise and swats at his arm, even manages a smile.

"I think our resident genius probably has all sorts of secrets that we'd never guess at," Derek says. He takes another sip of Garcia's drink, barely registering the way its over sweet flavor makes his taste buds tighten and his teeth itch, and gives Spencer a slow, considering look. Spencer looks at him blankly, his lips pressed flat with tension, and Ethan smirks and lifts his glass in a mock toast to Derek.

"You have no idea, Dirk." Ethan half rolls his eyes at Derek, as if his obvious attempts to push his buttons is some private joke they're sharing. "Does he still do that thing with you guys where he pretends to not know anything about popular culture? He's gotten a ridiculous amount of mileage out of that particular schtick." Ethan tugs affectionately at a lock of Spencer's hair and presses a kiss to his temple. Spencer, who had been looking back and forth between him and Derek with a small frown, glares at him. Derek bites back the sudden urge to laugh at the borderline petulant look on Spencer's face, because it's somehow so fitting that he's been overplaying his naivety for years as an extended personal joke.

"I knew it!" Garcia crows, practically bouncing in her seat. She turns toward Derek with a triumphant grin and steals her drink back from him, then waggles her finger at Spencer with feigned sternness. "I knew there was no way anyone could be as oblivious as you acted about some things."

"I won't be able to after this," Spencer mutters at Ethan, not giving any indication that he heard Garcia at all. There's no real anger in his voice though, and Derek has to look away when Ethan bends in even closer to brush their lips together. He's almost pathetically grateful that the server picks that moment to bring him his new drink just so he'll have something to distract himself with.

"So," Garcia says loudly before the kiss has a chance to deepen. Spencer jumps a little in his seat and pulls away from Ethan, his blush spreading to stain his neck and ears red. Ethan smirks, so smug Derek thinks he might as well have yellow feathers in his teeth, and arches an eyebrow at Garcia."How long were the two of you an item the first time around?"

"Six years, ten months, and almost three weeks," Ethan says immediately. Derek chokes on his drink, wondering if he's ever committed to anything other than Clooney for that long. Garcia and Spencer are both staring round-eyed at Ethan, although they seem surprised for a different reason.

"That's a lot more precise than I expected." Garcia leans forward, props her chin up on her palm, and drums her fingertips on her cheek as she looks between the two men again.

Spencer laughs, his eyes bright with amazement, and shakes his head. "You can't remember your own mother's birthday, but you remember that?"

"What can I say," Ethan asks with a shrug. He takes an overly casual sip of his almost untouched drink and glances around the table, his eyes locking hard with Derek's. There's a challenge there, and Derek grinds his teeth together to keep from sneering back at him. "Spencer's just that unforgettable."

Garcia looks from Ethan to Derek, and she elbows him once, a sharp jab that makes him break his gaze with Ethan and look down at her. He must have been unsuccessful at keeping his thoughts entirely off his face, because her smile is sharper than usual and she hisses 'play nice' at him under her breath before raising her voice to say, "You two are disgusting. I guess it wasn't a messy breakup?"

Ethan freezes, visibly uncomfortable for the first time since Derek's met him-and isn't that more satisfying than it has any right to be?-and it's tempting to try a smirk of his own. Or it would be if it wasn't for the sad, faraway look Spencer's giving his tightly clasped hands. He nudges Spencer's foot under the table, and his head snaps up. Their eyes meet for the first time since the four of them slid into the booth together, and Derek shivers at the jolt those hurt, pretty doe eyes send through his body. Another reason to hate Ethan, he decides, tearing his eyes away from Spencer to glare at him.

"It wasn't messy after we cleaned up the broken glass and plastic," Spencer says with a laugh, and if his laughter sounds a little forced or his smile looks a little fake, nobody says anything. Ethan's finger's curl into Spencer's hair and he lets out a long, sad sigh when Spencer doesn't pull away.

"That was my fault. I was out of line and you-"

"No," Spencer says, cutting him off. His voice is steadier now, and there's no room for argument in the hard look he gives Ethan. There's something so vulnerable and private in the way the two men are looking at each other that it multiplies Derek's desire to be anywhere but here until it's almost unbearable. "We were both in the wrong. I knew we were in trouble weeks before that fight, but I never tried to fix it. I thought if I kept ignoring it, that somehow it would magically fix itself once we got to Quantico. That was a mistake. I'm not saying that I wasn't angry when you left." Spencer's voice falters and his eyes dart toward Derek for a fraction of a second. "It hurt to come back and find you just gone, but it was as much my fault as yours that you felt like you had no other option."

Garcia sniffles into a napkin, and everyone turns to look at her, the moment broken. Spencer's cheeks turn impossibly redder with embarrassment and he starts to sputter something, but she laughs and flaps a hand at him. "Sorry, it just sounds so sad! It's like a soap opera. But it obviously all turned out okay since you're together now, right?"

Ethan and Spencer exchange a glance and Spencer opens his mouth to say something, but he's interrupted by the shrill trilling of Derek's phone. Derek grabs for it eagerly, nearly dropping it in his haste to answer it. The tinny voice in his ear is making some sort of pitch for a politician whose name he only vaguely recognizes, but Derek tosses down a twenty and motions for Garcia to move so that he can slide out of the booth.

"It's been fun," he says, ignoring the way Ethan's eyebrows quirk up at that, and bends to peck a pouting Garcia on the cheek. "But duty calls. Be safe on your way home, baby girl. Reid, I'll see you tomorrow. Ethan," he trails off, then just nods and waves shortly as he hurries away before any of them can say a thing to stop him.

* * *

Maybe Derek's blatantly blowing them off shouldn't matter so much, but it does. Spencer's angry, so angry he can taste it like copper in the back of his mouth. He mumbles something about being right back as he slides out of the booth to stalk after Derek. He catches up with the other man in the parking lot just as he's swinging a strong leg up over his bike. Spencer grabs at his arm, his fingers hooking into the crook of his elbow, so that he sways and staggers back a step. Derek whirls around, his handsome face creased with annoyance mixed with surprise when he sees Spencer glaring at him.

"What the hell, Reid?" Derek's voice should be loud, but the drone of traffic nearly drowns him out, and Spencer takes a step closer just to hear him better. He crosses his arms across his chest, tucking his fingers against his side in a vain attempt to stop them from tingling where they touched Derek's skin. Adrenaline pumps through Spencer's veins and he bounces on the balls of his feet as he leans in closer to hiss in Derek's face.

"That's what I should be saying to you. What was that in there, Morgan? I've met your mother. I know she raised you better than to behave that rudely." Derek's head whips back, and for a second Spencer thinks he's going to walk away. Instead, he steps forward so that his chest brushes against Spencer's folded arms and his hot breath hits Spencer's lips when he exhales, and Spencer's blood sizzles to life and screams 'Oh, good _God_ yes!'

"Leave it alone, Reid." Derek's eyes narrow dangerously, his pupils blown so dark and wide that Spencer can see the outline of his reflection in them, even with the poor lighting. "Just go back to your fucking boyfriend."

"That right there," Spencer exclaims. He pokes Derek in the sternum for emphasis, but once he's touched him, he can't bring himself to pull his hand away. He splays his fingers over Derek's chest, his hard muscles jumping under his palm, and Derek's breath goes ragged. "I know Ethan isn't always the easiest guy to get along with, but he hasn't done anything other than mess with you a little," Spencer says, his voice uneven in his own ears. "Why do you hate him so much?"

Derek's fingers curl around Spencer's hand, and Spencer's certain he's going to move it, but he only presses it tighter against him. Standing this close, the scent of his cologne is dizzying, and Spencer tastes its memory on his tongue. All he can feel is Derek's heat enveloping him, pulling him in, and he feels the low, rough rumble of his voice before his ears register the sound.

"I hate him because he has you."

Spencer's still trying to make sense of that when Derek's lips collide with his. The kiss is brutal, biting, and all Spencer can think is '_finally_' when Derek fists a handful of his hair and sucks his lower lip between his teeth. "He gets to touch you," Derek growls against his mouth. "He gets to kiss you and fuck you and wake up to you, and I want to _kill_ him for that."

Derek bites his jaw and his tongue is scalding against the delicate skin behind Spencer's ear, and Spencer digs his fingers into his shoulder and tries to process what he's saying, because his superior intellect is pointing out that the words coming out of Derek's mouth might be a tiny bit more important than what he's doing with it right now. Every nerve ending in his body screams at him to stop and just let the man keep doing what he obviously does best, but Spencer twists his torso away and shoves at Derek hard enough that he stumbles back into his bike. He curses and manages to catch both himself and it before they can fall over, but the heat in his eyes isn't from anger when he looks up at Spencer.

"What are you _doing_?" Spencer wants to sound outraged or furious or just plain pissed, but his voice is more distressed than anything. He swallows and rubs his hand hard over his neck, trying to erase the feel of Derek there, but it doesn't work. He can feel his pulse pounding erratically under his fingertips and he takes one deep breath after another to try and slow it down. Derek straightens and reaches out toward him, but Spencer scurries back a step, away from temptation. Derek's arm drops to his side and Spencer stares at his strong, blunt fingers, unsuccessfully trying to stop himself from imagining all the wonderfully depraved things those hands could do to his body.

"Why him?" There's a bewildered, almost hurt note in Derek's voice that makes Spencer look at him. His mouth is tight and there's a furrow between his eyebrows that Spencer aches to smooth away. He swallows again and shakes his head slowly when Derek takes a step toward him, but doesn't back away. "Tell me why you're with him."

"There are a lot of reasons." Spencer rakes his fingers through his hair and blows out a harsh breath. "He's a good man, Derek. I know you don't see it, but he is. He cares about me and calls me on my shit and I have fun when I'm with him. He always has been and always will be my friend."

Derek blinks, confused, and frowns. "What about all the years when you weren't talking because he walked out on you? Were you friends then?"

"First, Ethan would have gotten the quote, which is another point in his favor," Spencer says with a short laugh. "And second, you aren't exactly in a position to be judging him. At least he left a note."

Spencer wants so badly to still be angry, but that's not who he is. It's too tiring to keep up that level of resentment-even if a part of him does still want to hurt Derek-especially when he still cares about him so much that just his touch makes his entire body quake with a heart wrenching yearning. He closes his eyes and his lips curve in a small smile, and when Derek starts to say something, he lifts his hand to stop him.

"Go home, Derek. Figure out what it is you need to do to get over this and just do it. And stop letting Ethan bait you. You're better than that." Spencer backs away from him toward the door to the bar, and when Derek makes no move to stop him, he nods once and leaves.

* * *

Inside, Ethan smiles vaguely at Garcia and tries not to be too obvious about watching the door for Spencer. He knows he's not Spencer's keeper, that the other man's allowed to do whatever he wants, but it doesn't settle well with him to know that he's out there all alone with Derek-fucking-Morgan. They're both so painfully deep in denial that they might as well move to Egypt. Ethan frowns, a little annoyed at himself for even thinking such a bad, cliched joke. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice Garcia's talking to him again until she hits him in the face with a peanut.

"Sorry," he says, picking up the peanut and weighing it in the palm of his hand. He likes Garcia, really he does. She's sharp and happy and bright, but if she throws another legume at him, he's going to have to take her down. "Could you repeat that?"

"I asked how long Spencer's been keeping you his little secret." Garcia smiles at him, and Ethan doesn't think there's anything sneaky about it, but he can't really be certain. At first glance she's like an open book, everything right out on the surface, but he's quickly starting to realize that she's more like a cleverly encrypted file, only showing people what she wants them to see. "How long since the two of you got back together?"

"We aren't," Ethan says bluntly. His eyes are drawn back toward the door like a magnet to true north, and he nearly misses the surprise that flashes across her face. "We're just friends now. Don't get me wrong, we're still...close, but there's nothing more to it than that. We decided ages ago that we'd never be able to make an actual relationship work."

"I wouldn't have guessed." Garcia's voice is soft, thoughtful. When he looks back at her, her brilliantly painted lips are drawn to the side as she studies him. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

Ethan sips his drink and keeps his face as blank as possible as she assesses him. "It doesn't matter if it isn't. He's in love with someone else, and I've given him little reason to trust me enough to try and plan a future."

"Seven years isn't exactly nothing." Garcia tilts her head to the side and leans forward, her hands flat on the table between them. "That has to count for something."

"How much do you know about his father," Ethan asks, his smile humorless.

"Enough," she finally says after a long pause.

Ethan leans forward confidentially. "He left. I left. Spencer has this thing about people leaving. It pisses him off. I'm back in his good graces, but things will never go back to the way they were."

Garcia sits back and her lips form a soft circle of understanding. "Oh. There's nothing you can do to change that?"

"Maybe," Ethan says, his eyes glued on the door again. "Stranger things have happened. But, like I said, he's in love with someone else. Why does this bother you so much?"

"Because it's obvious that you two care about each other, and Spencer deserves to be with someone who loves him. Are you really okay with him wanting to be with someone else," Garcia asks. Her voice is thick with disbelief, but Ethan ignores it as the door opens and Spencer walks in, a strange light in his warm eyes. He's all the way across the room, but Ethan has no problem catching sight of the darkening mark on the pale column of his neck or noticing how red and swollen his already full lips are.

Ethan's breath catches in his throat and he gulps the rest of his drink to force it down. He can see Garcia watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he wonders exactly how much she sees. Probably more than enough, he decides when he looks over at her. At least enough to not look at all convinced when he makes himself smile and say, "The only thing that matters is that he's happy."

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**

My head canon for the end of Ethan and Spencer's relationship can be found in Fall Apart. You don't need to read it to understand the entire fic, but it will be referenced once or twice.

I'm _so_ sorry this took so long. Between real life blowing up and a massive case of writer's block, I've barely been able to write my name, much less fanfic. Forgive me?

**ETA**: Apparently FFnet doesn't like long, smooshed together words anymore. What the fuck's up with that? I don't like having to add hyphens to my long, smooshed together thoughts. Boo, FFnet. Boo.


	4. Chapter 4

'_Oh, good. We've graduated from awkwardly pretending nothing happened to awkwardly avoiding each other_,' Spencer thinks wearily when Derek spots him entering the bullpen and immediately changes his course to head back toward his office. '_This __should be fun_.'

The agonizingly slow movement of the clock is distracting, each second _ticktickticking_ at the cusp of his hearing until he can barely concentrate on the paperwork piled precariously on his desk. He taps his pencil on the file he should be scanning through, the lead marking the cover with tiny dots, before jumping up with his mug.

Coffee.

Coffee will help.

Coffee _always _helps.

* * *

"Last night."

Derek doesn't look up from the file he's pretending to go over, doesn't even twitch a little bit. In all fairness, part of that is because the pounding in his head is so tight and steady that he thinks his brain might legitimately break if he tries to move, but there's no reason to let Garcia in on that, so he just grunts a little in acknowledgment when she drops into the chair across from him, obviously not going anywhere anytime soon.

She taps her nails-a deep purple today, to match the flower pinned in her hair-on the armrest of her chair for a few moments, and when he doesn't answer, she continues. "So. That happened."

White flecks flair up around the corners of his vision when he looks up and he kind of hates Garcia a little right now for not letting him wallow in peace. "Yes," he says carefully, his voice hoarse as if he spent all of last night shouting instead of drinking half a bottle of whiskey and complaining to Clooney. "It did."

Garcia tilts her head so that she can narrow her eyes at him over the top of her glasses, then arches an eyebrow. "Do you want to maybe, I don't know, explain _why _it happened?"

His chair is one of those ergonomic deals that he splurged on with his own money after the last house he flipped. It's like sitting on a black leather cloud, but it might as well be a made up entirely of red hot, metal spikes by the way his body protests when he settles back into the carefully designed cradle of it.

"If I say no, will you go away?"

Garcia mimics him, leaning back in her own cheap, wooden chair, then takes it a step further by propping her feet up on his desk, mindful to keep her skirt spread modestly down over her lap. She squirms a little, clearly getting comfortable, then flashes him a grin that pretty much screams _I've got all day, buddy, it's your move to make_. "You can try, but I wouldn't bet on it. You're not pretty enough to get out of acting like a dick, no matter what all the girls might tell you."

"I really don't want to talk about it," he tries anyway, because it's the truth and there's still the slim, slim chance that Garcia will take pity on him.

Her brow furrows.

Or not.

"Look," she says, biting absently at the inside of her lower lip. "We're friends, right?"

"You're my baby girl." Really, there's nothing more to say than that, and Garcia flashes him a quick smile.

"And you're my chocolate Adonis," she says with all the fondness of someone saying something like 'my schmoopy woopy pie'. "But as much as I love seeing you kicking butt and and taking names, Reid's new gentleman caller maybe isn't the best guy to be practicing on."

"Garcia," he says lowly, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"I'm just saying," she rushes on. "It's not like Reid goes out of his way to be social and make connections, you know? We've worked with him for how many years now? And how many times has he mentioned going on a date or actually seeing somebody? God knows this is the first time I've ever seen him with anyone."

"Garcia," he tries again, because he really just can't _deal _with this right now. Not with the way his head is pounding and his stomach is clenching and a knot is tightening in his throat.

"He's our friend. Don't you want him to be happy?" She looks at him with such open, honest confusion that Derek has to close his eyes for a second.

"Yes," he finally grits out. "It's not about him being happy."

"Then what?" Garcia pauses, a hint of hesitancy creeping into her expression around her eyes. "Is it the gay thing? Because I never pegged you as being narrow minded."

"No," he snaps, his voice harder than he'd intended. Garcia blinks slowly, eases down a little lower in her chair.

"Okay," she says slowly, an eyebrow inching up. "Good."

"Yeah. Peachy," he huffs out on a bitter laugh. Garcia just stares at him, and in the silence all he can hear is the faint pounding of his blood in his ears, so he says, "It's just that guy. Ethan. He gets on my nerves."

Garcia swings her feet down, her heels hitting the carpeted floor with a soft _clunk_, and braces her palms at the edge of his desk, her fingers dipping down to cover part of the large calendar he has spread out over the top of it.

"Just so we're clear, you do know this isn't about you, right? It's about Spencer. Spencer, your colleague and your _friend_. Spencer, who you kind of upset when you just ran out on us last night." Derek opens his mouth to interject, but Garcia pulls a face that makes her look a little too much like his mother for comfort. "You're not the first person to disapprove of a friend's significant other, but if he's making Spencer happy, then it's really none of your business."

Derek swallows hard and very manfully resists the urge to do something like bang his head against his desk. It _should _be his business, a little voice in the back of his mind insists. This is something he should have a say in, _would _have a say in, except-

Except that it isn't.

Except that he'd had a chance and it's his own fault that he has no say in what or who Spencer does. Maybe if he'd kissed Spencer awake for another round after he'd woken up or if he'd cobbled together something resembling breakfast in Spencer's obviously under utilized kitchen or done anything other than pretend that a few months of borderline stalking and a night of really hot sex hadn't happened, then he'd be able to object with anything resembling validity.

But he hadn't and he had and this is all his own damn fault.

Derek scrubs a hand roughly over his face and sighs, which Garcia must take as an agreement, because she says, "Good. Now, how are you going to fix this?"

* * *

Spencer's expression stutters into surprise for a fleeting second, before locking down into a mask of tightly controlled blankness, and Derek has long enough to swallow and open and close his mouth about six times in mute preparation to say all the things he'd rehearsed on the way over, and then Spencer's knuckles go white and the tendons of his exposed forearm visibly tighten. Derek manages to get his shoulder wedged into the door frame and blurts out, "I'm an asshole," before Spencer can actually slam it fully closed in his face.

Or on his torso, as the case may be.

The announcement is enough to get Spencer to pause, though his lips twist unpleasantly to the side and he keeps the door half closed; Derek is fairly certain he can _see _Spencer mentally calculating exactly how much pressure he would have to exert and where in order to manhandle Derek back out. He'd like to say that it's one of the worst receptions he's ever had, except that would be blatantly untrue. It doesn't even make the top ten, but it cuts, hurting deep and sharp in his chest, as if it tops the list. Spencer still doesn't say anything and there's an entire canyon developing in the furrow between his eyebrows, but he's not actively shoving Derek out, which he can only take as a sign to go on.

"I'm an asshole," he tries again, because it seems to have worked before. The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches in a suppressed half smile, like he's agreeing, and Derek hazards a tentative smile of his own. "And I'm sorry."

Spencer tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow to slits, and it's on the tip of Derek's tongue to point out the 'no profiling each other' rule, but his self preservation instincts kick in just in time and he bites it back. After several long, tense seconds, Spencer asks, "Do you know what you're sorry for?"

A beat.

"Other than being an asshole," Spencer clarifies.

Derek lets himself laugh at that, a small, fond laugh, because he's _missed _Spencer. He's missed Spencer, who's standing right in front of him, ready to bludgeon him with the sharp edge of his front door, and Derek wants nothing more in this instant than to reach out and touch. He wants to fall to his knees, frame those slim hips with his hands, press his cheek against the crease where his thigh meets his hip, and just breath Spencer in. He wants Spencer to _want_ him to do these things.

Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets and digs his nails into the flesh of his thighs.

Instead, he says, "I was out of line. If I wanted to do something, I had plenty of opportunities. I had no right to act like your, I don't know, jilted girlfriend or something."

"No, you didn't," Spencer agrees, and if his voice is still miles harder than Derek is used to, then he can at least take comfort in the fact that the door is slowly inching open again. "I don't need your approval or your permission to do anything in my personal life."

"I know," Derek says, already swaying further forward into the apartment. It smells subtly different from the last time he was here, something dark and woodsy coloring the air in an undertone, and his stomach clenches at the implications of that. "I know you don't, Spencer. God, man, I just..."

The door freezes in its progress, and Spencer's expression, which had finally started to soften, stiffens again. His voice is dry and brittle as autumn leaves when he asks, "You just _what_, Morgan?"

_I just want you to stop looking at me like that._

_I just want to wake up next to you and know that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be._

_I just want to go back and fix everything I fucked up._

_I just want_ you.

"I just want to fix this, so we can be...okay again." It's a half truth at best, and it hurts to say that and not any of the myriad of things that spring to mind, but even more than he needs Spencer in his bed, he needs him to be happy. Derek isn't used to that. Yes, he has people he cares about, people he's close to, but with the exception of his mother and his sisters, he can't think of a single person whose personal happiness he's ever wanted to put before his own. But now there's Spencer, and Derek thinks he might be willing to give up everything he has if only it would make Spencer smile at him again the way he did that night, so open and easy and guileless.

The realization of that slams into him so hard that he physically can't breathe, and it only gets about ten times worse when, without actually moving, Spencer deflates, sort of crumpling in on himself in a way that makes Derek want to wrap him in a fuzzy blanket and ply him with coffee and episodes of Star Trek until that fucking broken look is _off his face_.

"That's not going to happen overnight. You get that, right?" Spencer rubs the back of his neck, his fingers slipping under the rumpled edge of his collar, and exhales slowly through his nose.

"I know," Derek says, and without his meaning to, his voice goes soft the way it does when he's soothing Clooney through a thunderstorm. "Garcia told me I should try making some kind of grand gesture to show you that I'm serious."

Spencer doesn't answer, but he arches an eyebrow and his lips twitch in another almost smile.

He pauses, then swallows the bitter taste of his wounded pride, and says, "She also told me that Ethan's playing at some club tonight?"

* * *

The club is a lot newer and cleaner than Derek had been expecting. Hearing 'jazz club' had made him think of some gritty, dirty backroom where the people sat huddled around small, round tables, each just barely illuminated by a solitary flickering candle, while the musician performed in a corner under the glow of a bare light bulb. True, there's a 'No Smoking' sign that no one seems to be paying attention to and the lights are low, but there's a sultry, romantic vibe to the room that, Derek is loath to admit, radiates out from the soft spotlight trained on Ethan. It makes him cringe to even think it, but for the first time Derek can sort of see his appeal.

There's something raw and untamed in the way Ethan plays. Derek's always thought of pianists as stiff and proper, but his long, lanky frame sways freely as he pounds away at the keys. His hands fly, almost independent of his body. The music darkens, sending shivers down Derek's spine, and Ethan's face contorts with an agony that's echoed in every note. The volume dies to a whisper, and Ethan bends nearly double at the waist, his forehead pressed so hard against the top of the piano that Derek can see his skin turn white at the edges. The music climbs rapidly, and the pit of Derek's stomach drops like when he takes a turn too fast on his bike, like the entire world's about to fall out from underneath him. Ethan's head falls back, his eyes closed and his lips parted, completely rapturous.

His elegant, nimble fingers do more than just press down on the keys. They caress them, tease them, coax them. He strokes them as devotedly as a lover until the music's wild, building higher and tighter and faster until Derek's breathless, so focused on the sound that he barely notices when Spencer blindly fumbles to grab his wrist and leans forward in his seat, his own breathing a little uneven. The music breaks, bright and sharp as shards of glass raining down around them, and Ethan slumps a little, his head rolling loosely back and forth from shoulder to shoulder as he picks out a lazy melody. He looks at their table, his dark eyes half lidded, and smiles a small, secret smile that makes Spencer's fingers flex around Derek's wrist.

Derek swallows thickly and reaches for his glass, dislodging Spencer's hand. He's pretty certain the other man doesn't notice, might not even realize he grabbed on to him to begin with, and in this moment Derek's also pretty certain that he doesn't entirely blame him. Ethan's an infuriating, unrepentant bastard, but he's damn good at what he does.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!  
**  
It feels really weird to be writing this fic again. I feel like I've changed some as a writer since I started writing this last year and I'm not sure how well my writing now flows with my writing from then, but I've always intended to finish this and I finally feel like it's the time to do that, so hopefully it's not too jarring.


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